Become Who You Are
by Anfield
Summary: THIS STORY IS DEAD-WON'T BE FINISHED, DECIDED TO GO IN A DIFFERENT DIRECTION.
1. Chapter 1

_Picking up V.'s story again, two years later. Once again, I'm writing in conjunction with indieJane, so please plan to read her story, Allegiances, along side this one (.net/s/6052410/1/Allegiances) so you don't miss anything. I have this one partially planned out, but I take requests, so if there's something you want to see, leave a comment!_

-0-

"He's asleep," Jax muttered, his face in V.'s hair. She was standing at the sink, barefoot, in cut off jeans and tank top. He'd been watching her from the kitchen doorway, loving her being here, but couldn't help but come closer. _Maybe,_ he thought, _I should ask her again about moving in. _It seemed to be going better this time, this latest round of breakup and make-up leaving them on blessedly stable ground. _Maybe we're done with all that drama and we can just be a family now_. He moved his lips slowly down her neck, across her shoulder, to the strap on her tank top. His hands held her hips and he felt the familiar way her body began to move against him. _This never gets old,_ he though, beginning to pull the strap down.

She squirmed away, shrugging the tank top strap back up her shoulder. "You know he won't stay down," she said. "Do you really want him walking in again?"

Jax knew she was right—Abel's recently discovered ability to get out of bed alone had already netted him one horrifying, if funny, conversation about what he and V. were doing. It would probably be best to avoid another one. Still, she smelled so good. He slid his hands from her hips under her shirt, finding her breast with one, leaving the other pressed against her belly. Her laughter made him want her all the more, and this time when she began to squirm away he held on tighter. "No, stay."

V. leaned back against Jax, closing her eyes and letting the kitchen, the sleeping toddler, the questions about just what the fuck she was doing here again all slip away. Even when nothing else made sense, this part always did. She tipped her head back against him, giving him access to her neck, where he nipped at her, the hand on her belly dropping to the waistband of her shorts, looking for the button.

"Jackie!" Chibs' voice stopped them cold. It wasn't unusual for him to announce himself just this way, barging in the front door with some message or to collect Jax for some errand. Before either of them could move, he was standing in the kitchen doorway. "Oh. Sorry. V, Didn't know you were here." He backed up a bit, but there was really nowhere for him to go. "Clay wants us to check on that warehouse thing." He kept his face still. _After two years, I ought to be used to it_, he thought. He didn't even get hopeful when they broke up anymore—he knew it wouldn't last.

Jax pulled away from V. "Fuck," he said. "Babysitter hasn't shown up. Goddammit." He turned back to her. "Can you…?"

Chibs nearly smiled at the look on V.'s face. _You chose this path,_ he thought. _Suck it up. _She nodded, not bothering to disguise her irritation. "This time," she said, warning in her voice.

Jax smiled, then leaned towards her again and kissed her quickly. "Thanks, babe." A moment later, she heard their bikes start up in the driveway and they were gone.

V. finished the dishes and dried her hands, then pulled a beer from the fridge. She noted that there was almost nothing else in it and wondered, not for the first time, what the hell Jax was feeding his son. Wandering into Abel's room, she saw the little boy was still fast sleep, blond curls spread out on his pillow. _You are cute,_ she thought. _Look just like your goddamn daddy._ It was better than it used to be—she didn't think about the son that had been taken from her every time she looked at Abel anymore. Sometimes, when she was particularly drunk or morose, it got to her, but mostly, she looked at him and saw the little boy he actually was, the little mini-Jax into which he was being groomed. _You're a lucky kid,_ she thought. _You got a great big family, and they love the hell out of you._

For his part, Abel unexpectedly adored V., who played rough, let him eat whatever he wanted, and talked to him like an adult. When Jax told her the little boy was asking for her, during their last breakup when she wasn't coming over anymore, she'd been unexpectedly moved and worried by it. _It isn't fair to do this to this kid,_ she thought. _Jax and I may never get our shit straight, and in the meantime he loses me every time._ The thought was still making her uneasy.

Wandering through the house, V. thought about how things were now, and how long they'd likely last that way. Her mind returned, as it often did, to the days following her kidnapping and torture by the Russians. Physically, she'd been a mess, barely able to walk, with injuries she hadn't even known she had until she'd been admitted to St. Thomas. The recovery was slower than she'd expected, her mind getting in the way of her body, and she'd refused—she still refused—to talk to anybody about any of it. Jax had been incredible. He'd taken care of her to the extent she'd allow it, and doing whatever he could to make her life easier even when she told him not to. Because of the Club, and particularly because of him, she never had to return to the apartment where she'd been tortured, never had to see the bloodstains on the floor, never even had to settle up the outstanding rent. It was just all taken care of.

Jax had quite a job in convincing her to stay at his house after her released from the hospital, but she ended up glad she had. He hadn't pushed anything on her, just waited for her to come to him. He was surprised how quickly she had, and had questioned her readiness, but she insisted. She remembered telling him, "this is how I get past this shit," and he'd let her take the lead.

It had gone bad not long after she'd healed, of course. He'd been pissed when she'd insisted on moving back into her own place, and from there it had escalated. Since then, there'd been…three break-ups? Four? Enough that it was a running club joke that they were together—or not—at any given time.

V. shut the back door quietly, not wanting to wake Abel when she went outside to smoke. She leaned against the side of the house, taking her first drag and looking up at the sky. She was tense—damn Jax for starting to work her up and then leaving—and wished she was out on some action rather than here, babysitting. _He better not fuckin' think he is gonna make a habit of this,_ she thought irritably.

A noise inside stopped V. mid-inhale. She froze, concentrating, then heard it again. _There's somebody fucking in there,_ she thought. Quietly, she crept towards the door, inching it open and looking around. She didn't see anything. Her mind raced—she didn't have a gun on her, where would the closest one be? Breadbox, she decided. Silently, the entered the kitchen, closing the door gently behind her, and moved across the room. Then, gun in hand, she stood again and listened. The noise again. Jesus, it was in Abel's room.

V. held her breath and clicked the safety off the gun. In the four steps between the kitchen and the entrance to Abel's room, her mind played all the possible scenes. Mayans? Wendy? It didn't matter. Whoever was in there was not going to lay a finger on that little boy.

At the door, V. was surprised to see not a man in a rival cut, but the slim, dark-haired figure of a woman. She was leaning over Abel's bed, her back to V. V. took a silent step forward, figuring her chances of having to shoot the woman in front of Abel were lower if she could sneak up on her and threaten her out of the room. Until the gun was against her temple, the dark-haired woman didn't even know she there.

She didn't scream, but jumped backwards. "Hold fucking still," V hissed. "And back out of here."

The woman began to speak, but V. lifted her other hand and clapped it over her mouth. "Not in here." Feeling the gun against her head and sensing V. would use if it she had to, the dark-haired woman backed up slowly. V. kept her hand over the woman's mouth, pulling her towards the living room.

Once they were away from the baby, V. removed her hand from the woman's mouth, but kept the gun to her temple. "OK," she said. "You'd better tell me real quick who the hell you are and what the fuck you are doing here."

To V.'s surprise, the woman began to laugh. The laughter was high and nervous, but seemed almost uncontrollable. "Jesus Jax," she said between giggles, looking intently at V.

V. pressed the gun harder against the woman's temple. "I have no idea what you find so fuckin' funny," she said, "but this is the last time I ask you. Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"OK, OK," the woman stifled the end of her laughter. "You can put down the gun." She opened one closed fist and showed V. two silver keys on a ring. "I let myself in. Thought I'd surprise him." She began to giggle again. "I'm Tara Knowles."


	2. Chapter 2

Tara wasn't sure what to think. She'd expected that as soon as she said her name, the woman holding the gun on her would lower it and apologize. But she didn't. Instead, she smirked, tilting her head to the side and studying Tara in a way that made her extremely uncomfortable. Thinking that maybe Jax hadn't told whomever this slut was about her, she continued. "I…I was with Jax for a long time. That's why I have a key."

"I know who you are."

"OK…so, could you put the gun down?" Tara was starting to get a little bit nervous about having a gun held to her head. "I just got into town. I wanted to surprise Jax and Abel and I thought the nanny would be here. I didn't mean to frighten you. I had no idea you'd be here. And I was so surprised when I saw Abel was so big, I just forgot to even look to see who was here…" Realizing she'd started to ramble, she trailed off.

"Sit down." The tone in the woman's voice didn't leave room for argument, and she seemed to be offering to lower the weapon, so Tara sank into the couch. Looking around the room, she saw that little had changed since she was here last. Little except for this strange woman. Tara studied her. She looked hard—muscular tattooed arms, the clearly familiar way with which she handled the gun. She was pretty, and she wasn't a Crow Eater—dressed to casually, too little make-up—but she clearly wasn't the Nanny, either. For Jax to leave her alone with Abel, she must be someone he trusted. This she hadn't been expecting.

"Give me the keys." Again, the woman wasn't asking her, but demanding.

Tara frowned. "I don't think so," she said, waiting to see if the gun would be raised again. "Who are you, anyway?"

"My name is V. And I think you already know who I am." She smiled now. "Now give me the goddamn keys." She didn't raise the gun again, but looked down at it still in her hand, her meaning clear.

_Jesus Christ, he found another crazy,_ Tara thought. She leaned forward and handed V. the keys. "You're overreacting here," she said, trying a pacifying tone of voice. "I clearly wasn't going to hurt anybody. Jax would be fine with my being here."

V. shrugged. "Jax isn't here; I am." She stood up in a way that was clearly intended to be dismissive.

Tara didn't get up. "When will Jax be back?"

V. smirked again. "No idea," she said. "MC business. I'm sure you remember how that is." She stepped towards the door. When Tara still didn't rise, she spoke again. "Get out."

Given that the gun was still in V.'s hand, Tara decided it was best to do what she said. Still, she couldn't resist stopping at the doorway. "Don't get too comfortable," she hissed.

-0-

When the tardy babysitter finally arrived, V. headed not to her apartment, but to Teller-Morrow. Meeting Tara had left her with the powerful need to hit something, and the heavy bag was calling. She was happy to find the ring deserted—she didn't much feel like chatting. Instead, she focused on the back, throwing combinations, mixing it up with kicks. After a few minutes, like always, everything else in her head started to go away.

"Uh oh." After she'd been at the bag 20 minutes or so, V. heard a voice behind her. "What did he do?"

She stopped, turning and smiling as she wiped the sweat from her forehead. "Hey Ope. What did who do?"

"Jax. Way you're poundin' on that bag, you gotta be taking something out."

"I'm that transparent?" V. shook her head. "Not Jax." Had anybody else asked, V. likely would have left it there, but she liked Opie, and she saw no reason not to tell him. "Abel and I just had a mystery visitor. Who I almost fuckin' shot, by the way, because the stupid bitch didn't knock on the door, she let herself in with her own goddamn key."

Opie looked confused. "Let herself in? What?"

"The good Dr. Knowles is back in town."

"You have got to be shitting me. And she just stopped by?"

"And let herself in."

Opie pulled a hand through his beard. "Sit down," he said. "You'd better tell me this one from the beginning."

Sitting next to him on the picnic table, passing a cigarette back and forth, she told Opie the whole story, leaving out only Tara's last words, warning her not to get comfortable. By the end, he was laughing out loud. "I'd have loved to see her face" he said, "with you holding a goddamn gun on her and making her give the keys up." He'd liked Tara, once upon a time, but when she'd left the second time, after ingraining herself in Jax's life again, making sure he really needed her, there was no sympathy left.

"She was a little bit nervous," V. said, but she wasn't smiling. While she knew she should think the whole encounter had been funny, she really didn't.

Opie noticed V. wasn't laughing and his face sobered. "You don't need to be worried about this," he said. "Tara may think she can just walk back in, but it won't work this time. Jax loves you."

V. shook her head, irritated immediately by Opie's presumption. "I'm not worried," she said. "The self righteous bitch just annoyed me."

"Apparently," Opie said dryly, picking one of V.'s hands up off her knee. Her knuckles, criss-crossed with years of scars, were split open again. He shook his head. "Why in God's name don't you wrap your hands?"

-0-

Opie was still sitting on the picnic table, smoking, when Chibs and Jax pulled into the lot. V. had gone home. As the other two men approached him, Opie thought about whether or not to tell Jax about what V. had told him—it might be more fun to watch it play out itself—but decided he owed him a heads up. In the mood V. seemed to be in, he could probably use the lead time.

"I think you might have a problem on the home front," Opie said, after saying hello to Chibs and Jax. "V. was here earlier."

Jax looked puzzled. Things had been good, heading towards really good when he'd left. "She was that pissed about having to watch the kid until the sitter came?" he asked.

"No. She got a visit before the sitter showed up. Tara."

Jax's eyes widened. "You're fucking kidding me. Tara? Here?"

"In your kid's bedroom, apparently. Let herself in without knocking. V. said she just about shot her before she figured out who she was."

Chibs snorted. "And probably came even closer after she figured it out," he said.

Jax shook his head, the mental picture Opie was drawing an increasingly bad one. "Jesus. That can't have gone well. How pissed was she?"

"Hitting the bag with no gloves when I came out," Opie answered.

Chibs couldn't help but smile then, knowing just how high that rated on V.'s pissed off scale. His mind started down the familiar path, thinking of what V. could be like when she was angry, how raw and intense, but he knew no good laid there and forced himself away from it. The last thing he wanted to think about was how V. and Jax worked those things out. He wasn't carrying a torch for her these days—that made it sound like something more romantic than it was. Really, it had faded to just the same intense sexual desire he'd felt towards her before they'd ever been together. If he was asked now if he was in love with V., he'd say no and be relatively sure of the honesty of that answer. Wanting her, though, had never gone away. As he rose from the picnic table, he forced a grin. "Good luck with that, Jackie-boy," he said. As he headed inside, he tried to convince himself he was lucky not to be the one to have to calm V. down.

-0-

By the next morning, everybody at the garage had heard the story of V.'s holding a gun on Tara. "I feel like I ought to make you a goddamn cake," Gemma said when V. came into the office. "Next time, shoot her."

Before V. could respond, Jax had come into the office. "What happened to you last night?" he asked. "You never came back, and you didn't answer your phone." V.'s phone was an ongoing issue between them—she rarely had it on her, had it turned or, or answered it when it rang, and was unapologetic about not being beholden to it.

"I went home," she said. "Phone must be turned off."

Watching them, Gemma nearly laughed aloud. While she couldn't blame him for finding her infuriating, Gemma had grown to like V. Her loyalty to the Club was clear, and it was impossible not to admire her toughness. During the times they were together, she was also a good influence on Jax. It was the times they weren't that were the problem.

Jax grabbed V.'s hand, pulling her up from the chair she'd just settled in. "Come on," he said. "I need to talk to you." Outside, he put his arms around her waist and pulled her close to him. "Heard about the visit from Tara. I'm sorry."

"Why? You didn't know she was coming."

"No, never would have guessed it. But Ope said she had you pretty mad."

V. shrugged. "I could have killed her. Stupid of her to sneak in like that."

Jax shook his head. "That was stupid, but that's not why you're so pissed. I know you. Holdin' a gun on somebody for a few minutes doesn't keep you up at night."

It was true. V. felt no remorse or concern about having held the gun on Tara. In fact, the longer she thought about it and the more she saw everyone else's reactions, the funnier she thought it was. Whatever was bothering her, it wasn't that. She shrugged. "She irritated me."

Jax smiled. "I'll bet she did." He hadn't really thought, yet, about what having Tara back in Charming met for him, about how he felt about it. She was, just as she'd always been, one of the black boxes in his mind he preferred to keep closed. He looked more closely at V. "You know you have nothing to worry about, right? I love you."

She didn't respond. She never did. He'd gotten used to it, now, just considered them words she wouldn't say. She just nodded. "Come on," she said. "Let's get in the Clubhouse and see how it shakes out . Aisha gets out today."


	3. Chapter 3

V. was watching from the office window when Juice and Bobby pulled up with Aisha. She was nervous for the girl—had been all day—and was relieved to see her run to Tig, to see him kiss her. "Maybe the sonofabitch has a soul after all," she mused under her breath. V. had thought a lot about Aisha in the two years she'd been gone, had wondered how she was faring, and if the same girl who went in would come back out. It was hard to tell from a visit. She'd been afraid of what response she'd get from Tig when she returned, especially in light of his refusal to go pick her up, but this seemed like a better than expected outcome.

Still, V. felt uneasy. Nothing she'd seen from Tig in the years she had known him would lead her to believe this would be easy. After she finished in the office, she decided to wait a while to see if Tig and Aisha returned. _That way,_ she thought darkly, _at least if he comes back without her I'll know to go look for her fucking body._

While she waited, V. drank beer and shot pool with Juice and Opie. She thought, like she often did on these sorts of afternoons, about how nice it was to be here, to be comfortable hanging out with these guys. It had been built slowly, but these days she felt like family here. It wasn't sexual—after the disaster with Jax and Chibs, she'd kept all non-Jax sexual encounters far from the Club—it was just friendly. For the first time in her life, she felt like she was home.

Opie had won two in a row and V. was leaning over to break for the third game when she felt Jax behind her, his hands on her hips. "Don't fuck with me," she laughed, "I'm really truly gonna win this one."

He leaned over her, touching his lips to the back of her neck. "Don't fuck with you?" he whispered. "I so am gonna fuck with you." With each word he ground himself against her a bit more.

"Man, not on the fuckin' pool table. At least not while we're playing," Opie laughed. When Jax turned to respond, V. quickly took her shot.

When V. stood, Jax turned back to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her in. "Ditch this game and come home with me," he murmured into her hair. "Been thinkin' about you all day."

V. leaned tilted her head up and looked at him. "Tempting," she said. "But I wanna stay around until Aisha gets back. Just want to make sure she's OK."

"Way I heard it, Tig was all over her and they road off on his bike. I'd think she'd just fine."

V. nodded. "I know. Just…want to be sure."

Seeing the look on V.'s face, Jax frowned. "He's not gonna hurt her. Or, you know, not that way. Not now." He smiled again. "Come on. Come home with me."

V. shook her head, but smiled. "I'll come by later, OK? After Abel goes to bed."

Jax frowned again, but didn't say anything. He knew V. was avoiding seeing Abel while he was awake—she'd repeatedly come by only after he was asleep and left before he woke up. "He misses you, you know."

V. smiled. "I miss him too. I just gotta do this tonight, OK?"

Jax knew there was no point in arguing with her. If there was one thing two years spent either being with V. or trying to be with V. had taught him, it was that she was going to do whatever she wanted to do regardless of what he said. "OK." He kissed her. "I'll see you later."

Walking out to his bike, Jax felt his irritation surge. Never had it been necessary for him to try so hard to get a woman to spend time with him. It wasn't like V. didn't like sex—her appetite was amazing, unlike any woman he'd ever known—but anything else was difficult. Most women he knew, would be falling all over themselves to be at his house, play with his kid, even do his fucking laundry. V. acted like it was all too good for her. Like she had someplace so much better to be. He loved her terribly, but sometimes she was just fucking infuriating.

Inside, V.'s cell phone rang. She'd turned it on after her lecture from Jax that morning, and was startled for a second, unused to having it ring. "You gonna answer that?" Juice asked, chuckling.

"Oh, yeah, right," she pulled the phone from her pocket and flipped it open without looking. "What's up sweetheart?" she said, assuming it was Jax.

"I dunno sweetheart, what's up with you?" The voice on the other end of the line was familiar, raspy. V. felt her body react the way it always did to that voice, whether she wanted it to or not, a little series of shivers moving out from her stomach and radiating down her legs.

V. swallowed quickly. "Hey Happy," she said. "Sorry. I thought you were Jax."

"Gotta tell you, nobody's ever made that mistake before," he replied, chuckling. "Called to ask how it's goin' with the kid. She's out today, yeah?"

"Yeah. I actually haven't seen her yet. She's…off somewhere with Tig."

Happy was quiet for a moment on the other end of the line, and V. wondered if he was feeling the same uneasiness she did. "That's probably not gonna go well," Happy said. "She's been worried about how he'll react to her."

V. tried not to think about what it indicated that Happy knew so much about Aisha's state of mind, how much he'd been visiting her. She couldn't really see Happy with Aisha, but he had certainly taken an interest in her. "The way he's been around here," she said, "it would mean a pretty big change of heart."

She could hear Happy lighting a cigarette on the other end of the line. "I'm gonna be down in a couple of days," he said. "Until then, watch her, OK?"

"Of course." V. felt her stomach sink a little. "See you in a couple of days."

Clicking the phone shut, V. turned back to the game, but her concentration was broken. She'd thought, in the months after her kidnapping, that the fantasies she found herself having about Happy were a schoolgirl crush, a result of him having been the one to save her. After all these months, though, she knew that the way her heart sped up when she saw Happy or heard his gruff voice wasn't residual. She just wanted him. Which wasn't good, since he'd made his disinterest in her clear, and V. was really not very good at not getting what she wanted.

About an hour later, the door to the Clubhouse opened and Tig strolled in, looking calm and self-satisfied. For a moment, V. wondered if that was his "just got great sex" face, and thought things might actually be OK. A few steps behind him, though, was Aisha. One look at her and V. knew things were most definitely not OK. She wasn't looking at the floor, wasn't standing just behind Tig's left elbow. Instead, her head was high, her face set. She looked to V. like she wanted to cry but was determined not to.

"It's so good to see you," V. said, unusual warmth in her voice, as she pushed past Tig, ignoring him completely, and focused on Aisha. Had Aisha been anyone else, V. would have hugged her, but it seemed unlikely to be of any comfort here. "You look fucking great."

Tig strode towards the bar, grabbing a beer and then sprawling on the couch. He picked up the TV remote and began to click through the channels. V. watched Aisha's face, her eyes struggling not to follow Tig's movements. She thought, not for the first time, or even the first time that day, of how much she'd like to break the man's nose. "Thanks," Aisha said, her voice not so small as V. had remembered. "It's good to see you, too."

"Hey," V. said, an idea suddenly striking her. "Let's go get a drink." She gestured around her to the room. "These guys aren't looking to be all that much fun tonight, and your first night out ought to be a celebration." She didn't think Aisha would accept the invitation, but she had to do something to try to get the girl away from Tig. Behind her, V. could hear Juice laughing at her attempts at friendliness. The guys were used to her typical impatience with other women.

In a way that seemed more instinctive than on purpose, Aisha's eyes moved to Tig. Then, realizing that seeking his permission wouldn't be wise, she looked quickly back at V. "OK," she said. "That would be nice."


	4. Chapter 4

After dropping Aisha off at the Clubhouse, V. started to point the Charger towards Jax's house, but changed her mind after two blocks and turned back towards her apartment. She knew she should at least call him and tell him she wasn't coming over, but she groaned inside at the idea of having to explain why she'd rather be alone tonight. The truth was the whole conversation with Aisha had been fucking depressing, and she was worried about how things were going to be going forward and wanted a minute to herself to think about it. Which, of course, Jax wouldn't understand. Sighing as she pulled into the parking lot of her building, she pulled her phone out and painstakingly punched in a short text message: _Took Aisha out for a drink. Tired now. See you tomorrow._ Knowing he'd text or call back, she turned the phone off before returning it to her pocket.

Showering the next morning, V. was struck with a feeling it took a long time for her to place. It was, she realized with amusement, guilt. She felt guilty for standing Jax up, and even guiltier for the way she'd been avoiding Abel. _Maybe I'll go over there this morning,_ she thought. _Take Abel to the park. _She knew she'd be too late to catch Jax before he headed to the garage, but he'd probably be a lot happier with her later if he knew she'd spent time with Abel.

-0-

"Fuck." Jax slammed the phone into the cradle. The babysitter had cancelled again. At the last minute. When he was already running late. Sighing, he ran his fingers through his hair. He'd have to take Abel to the garage with him. Which was, now that Abel was mobile, a bit of a nightmare. Maybe Gemma would watch him. _Wouldn't want to ask Queen Fucking V._, he thought bitterly.

After gathering Abel up and quickly packing a bag for him, Jax headed towards his truck. He hated having to drive rather than ride anywhere, especially the Clubhouse, but with Abel it couldn't be helped. As he was strapping him into the car seat, a familiar car pulled up. "Jesus Christ," Jax muttered. Like he needed one more thing to deal with this morning.

Leaving Abel in the car seat, Jax strode towards the street. Tilting his head, he watched the woman climb out of the car. She looked good. She always did. He looked at her for a long moment, not saying anything. She met his gaze, then looked away. Finally, he spoke. "Been a long time, Tara."

"Jax," she smiled. "It's good to see you."

He was surprised that after all this time, it was still hard not to wrap his arms around her. After two years, and remembering why she'd left, how bad everything had been then, seeing how good she looked now, how happy she looked to see him—it all made it hard to be mad at her. "Good to see you too."

"I don't want to be presumptuous, Jax, but can I see Abel? I came the other day, but…"

He laughed. "Yeah. I heard about that. Sure."

-0-

By the time she pulled up to Jax's house, V. was almost excited about her "date" with Abel. She thought maybe they'd make a morning of it—she could take him to the park, then maybe by Teller-Morrow and to lunch before naptime. He loved the garage, and didn't get to go too often anymore since he was always underfoot. By the time she got to the door, she was smiling. Just as she was about to turn the handle, the door opened.

V. jumped back a bit, startled. In front of her in the doorway, holding Abel on her hip, was Tara. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Tara smiled in a way that was far from friendly. "Jax asked me to watch Abel." She turned towards the little boy and her smile widened. "I guess the babysitter canceled."

"And Jax asked you to babysit?" V.'s voice and face were skeptical. She wondered, for a moment, if Tara was actually some sort of freaky stalker who had broken in again. "Why the fuck would he do that?"

Tara's face returned to the fake smile. "I don't know," she said. "I guess he didn't have anyone else to call." She shook her head. "Nobody he could trust, anyway."

V. felt her blood pressure start to rise and her hands ball into fists. _Keep cool,_ she told herself. _You don't want to lay this bitch out in front of the baby._ "Well," she said, matching her falsely friendly tone to Tara's, "I'm sure you have lots to do. I just came by to pick Abel up from the sitter and take him out. His car seat in the truck?"

Tara screwed her face into the picture of concern. "I don't know about that," she said. "Jax didn't say anything about you picking him up."

V. took a deep breath. "That's because he didn't know. But I take Abel out all the time. It's fine."

Tara shook her head. "No, I really don't think I'm comfortable with that." She shifted Abel slightly on her hip, wrapping her arm a bit more possessively around him. "I'd think that if you were really back-up care for Abel, Jax would have called you this morning." Pasting the fake smile back on, she moved back as if to close the door.

Quickly as a flash, V. stuck her knee out to catch the door. "You don't dismiss me," she said.

"I'm sorry…V.," Tara responded. "I don't think we have anything else to say to one another."

"Like hell we don't," V. hissed. "If you know what's good for you, you'll the fuck home. I'll take over with Abel. You don't belong here."

Tara's smile turned to something real. "No," she said sweetly. "I think it's pretty clear. You don't belong here."

-0-

The sound of V.'s car screeching into the lot raised all the Son's heads from their work. "What the fuck?" Jax strode out to investigate the noise, the others just behind him. When he saw it was V., he rolled his eyes. _What the hell was she in a snit about?_

As V. approached him, it became clear that whatever she was pissed about, he was going to bear the brunt of it. She came close to him, her hands in fists. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" She was yelling, her face taut with rage. "You left Abel with fucking Tara? Left that bitch in your house, to disrespect me?"

Jax was confused. "What are you talking about, disrespect you? The babysitter canceled, Tara showed up, she's doin' me a favor."

V.'s eyes widened. "She just showed up? She's doin' you a favor? Are you fucking kidding me?"

Jax grabbed V.'s shoulders, shaking her lightly. "Calm the fuck down. Stop yelling. We'll go inside and talk about this."

V. jerked away from him. "Calm down?" She was screaming, every word clear to the on-looking mechanics. "I went over this morning, to pick Abel up and take him to the park. That vapid cunt wouldn't let me in! She told me she didn't feel comfortable with me taking Abel. She didn't feel fucking comfortable." V. was shaking with rage.

_Shit,_ Jax felt his stomach sink. _No wonder she's pissed._ He could just imagine the interaction between his former and current old ladies. _Oh God… _"Jesus, V.," he said, "is she OK? Did you hurt her?"

Several of the onlookers winced, hearing what must have been the very worst thing Jax could say. V.'s nostrils flared, and for a moment, it looked as if she really would hit Jax. "Did. I. Hurt. Her?" Her chest heaved. "No. I didn't fucking hurt her. She was holding the baby." Her eyes flashed. "But you know, maybe you ought to go home and check if you're so fuckin' worried."

"V., that's not what I meant," Jax began. V. cut him off.

"Fuck you, Jax."" V. shook her head.

"V.," he reached for her again. "This doesn't mean anything. I don't want Tara. I love you."

V. laughed derisively. "Come on, Jax. You're not really that fucking stupid. You know what's she's doing, and you played right along with her."

"Well what the fuck was I supposed to do? It's not like you're ever willing to help!"

"You're right. I'm not. I'm not your maid and I am not your kid's mom. You knew that to begin with. It hasn't changed. "

"Nobody asked you to be a fucking maid. It would just be nice if you acted like an Old Lady once in a while."

V. threw her head back then, laughing fully. "Jax," she said, her voice softer now. "I've told you. Over and over again. I'm not an Old Lady." She took a deep breath. "Go home to your doctor, Jax."


	5. Chapter 5

V. was shaking as she stomped towards the office. Though she really had no desire to talk to Gemma—the woman had almost certainly watched the whole fight through the office window—she was even less excited about heading back to her car in her current mood. Someone would end up getting run over.

"Sit down honey," Gemma said as soon as V. opened the door. She lit a cigarette and handed it to V. "Go ahead and yell if you want to."

V. smiled. "Think I'm done. For now."

Gemma nodded. Though she would never really side against her son, she couldn't help but sympathize with V. on this one. She couldn't believe Jax would be so stupid as to disrespect her this way, especially with the fucking doctor. _I knew there was no good coming with that bitch being back in town, _Gemma thought.

"You heard that, then?" V. asked.

Gemma grinned. "Anybody within three blocks heard that."

V. groaned. She'd been so mad she hadn't thought much about the public aspect. Now every man in the Club, and anybody else who happened to be hanging around, new how Jax had disrespected her. She looked at Gemma cautiously. "Isn't this the part where you bitch me out for yelling at your son in public?"

Gemma laughed shortly. "Not this time. I just can't believe the goddamn doctor did that to you and you left her standing."

"Couldn't do anything while she was holding Abel." V. pursed her lips. "Bitch knew that, too. She was hiding behind him."

"Wouldn't put it past her." Gemma sat down across the desk from V. and lit her own cigarette. She looked at V. intently. "Tell me something, baby. You really mean it this time?"

V. cocked her head but didn't answer, waiting for Gemma to say more.

Gemma exhaled her first drag. "You and Jax…you fight, you break up, you get back together. You've done it over and over again. But tellin' him to go home to the doctor, who he just let in his house? That ain't smart if you think you might want to be gettin' back together. He's likely to do it. You ready for that?"

V. was quiet for a moment, thinking about what Gemma was saying. In truth, she'd just been angry, not thinking much at all about what she was saying before it came out of her mouth. "If he wants to let her back in, he can have her." V.'s voice was hard.

Gemma shook her head. "That's it, then? You're gonna give him up?" She looked vaguely disgusted. "Tara shows up and she has you run off in two days? I expected better."

"It's not about her, Gemma." V. looked at the smoking cigarette in her hand intently, deciding if she really wanted to say what she was thinking. "All this time, I've been waiting for Jax to figure out I'm not gonna change. He expects me to, we break up, he tells me he gets it now, we get back together. But I realized something today, seein' that bitch with Abel. It's not just Jax. This whole time, I've been thinkin' he's gonna change, too. Thinkin' he's eventually gonna become a man who can take me for what I am." She tapped her cigarette against the ashtray on the corner of the desk. "He's not."

Gemma was surprised at how sad V.'s face seemed. She'd wondered for years why the woman kept trying with Jax, what kept her coming back when she so clearly craved something else in a man. The question was out before she had time to consider it. "Do you love him?"

V. looked surprised. It was, of course, a question she'd been asked before—by Jax himself, and more times than once—but it wasn't something she'd have ever expected from Gemma. She sighed. "No," she said. "I think I could have. If I'd have known him before…before everything, I think I could have. But now, no. I hear the word, I think I understand what it means, but I don't feel it."

Gemma smoked quietly for a moment. She remembered telling Tara, years ago, that if she loved Jax, she could learn to love the Club. With V., it was the opposite—she knew V. loved the Club, and had thought, these past years, that she could learn to love Jax. But maybe she couldn't. _Goddammit, _Gemma thought. _Why does this have to be happening now? Like I don't have enough to handle with Aisha!_

Before either woman said anything else, the office door banged open. Standing in the doorway, Tig looked a bit maniacal and almost confused, as if he'd been suddenly pulled out of something he'd been completely concentrated on. He threw a set of keys on the desk. "Subaru's fixed," he said. "I'm headed out."

Gemma frowned. "Everything OK?"

"Yeah. Just need a ride." Tig looked at V. "Quite the show you put on. That's one I would have paid for."

V. said nothing, just flipped her middle finger in his direction. She was in no mood for Tig. He laughed. "Still too pissed to talk? Don't blame you. I fuckin' hate that doctor. Uptight gash." He seemed positively cheerful. "Hey! I'm gonna ride out of town and shoot. You wanna come?"

Both Gemma and V. looked at Tig as if he'd grown a second head. It was nearly as bizarre as if he'd just asked her if she'd like to go on a picnic. Still, V. found the idea appealing. Being on the back of a bike always helped clear her head, and shooting wasn't a bad rage-killer either. "Sure," she said, jumping out of the chair. "Let's go."

Watching Tig and V. leave together, Gemma shook her head in wonder. No possible good could come of those two breathing the same air, much less taking a joint field trip. She closed her eyes briefly and prayed they wouldn't kill each other.

On the back of the bike, V.'s thought did quiet some. She liked the way Tig rode—easily confident, not feeling any need to showboat or to be particularly safety conscious. She didn't even think about how much she was or wasn't hanging on, just wrapped her arms around his waist in a way that felt comfortable and closed her eyes as the wind rushed by. It didn't matter that it was Tig, who she really couldn't stand, in front of her. All the mattered was the wind and the pavement and getting the hell away from Teller-Morrow.

Tig, too, was lost in his own head as they drove out of town. As had become his custom, he thought about everything but Aisha. He thought about the fight they'd all witnessed between V. and Jax, and what he'd do if a woman ever spoke to him like that. He thought about the Club, Clay's shaking hands, and what would come next. He thought about Gemma's worried face when he'd come into the office. When V. shifted behind him, her legs moving tighter against his, he thought about fucking her, how far above her head he could wrench those legs, and whether she'd scream.

Finally, Tig pulled the bike off at a spot where he and the others often came to shoot. A half mile off the main road, there was a clearing a broken down fence at one end. The ground was littered with bottles, most broken, a few intact. "Go set 'em up," he snarled.

V. was surprised to find herself doing what Tig said. _I'm only doing this,_ she told herself, _because I want to shoot to and it was nice of him to invite me._ She thought of Aisha, who did whatever Tig said, and felt vaguely guilty for being out with him at all. Irritated at the whole train of thought, she kicked a bottle across the ground. When she returned, Tig handed her a pistol, one of the two he carried. "Let's see you shoot."

V. lined up carefully. She wasn't a great shot, truth be told, and definitely wasn't much with a gun she wasn't used to. She tried to steady herself, then squeezed the trigger. The bullet came nowhere near the bottle at which she'd been amazing.

Tig laughed. "You suck." He stood next to her, his posture casual, and fired three quick rounds, taking out three of the five bottle she'd set up. "Try again."

She tried again. Then again. Both of the shots were wildly off. He eyed her suspiciously. "You can't really be this fucking bad a shot. How the fuck do you manage to drop bodies?"

V. sneered. "With a knife. You've seen me do it."

"Not the most efficient." He motioned towards her hands. "You're shaking. You still that pissed off?" He looked amused.

V. glared at him. "Maybe. So?"

"So what's the point?" He spoke as he reloaded his pistol. "Being pissed off's not gonna help you."

V. rolled her eyes. _What is this, psychoanalysis by the psycho?_ "Then what is gonna help me?"

He looked up, considering. "Not bein' somebody you ain't." He lined up to shoot again and knocked down the other two bottles. "One thing I've learned," he said. "Bein' married and all. You gotta have somebody who knows who you are and is OK with that."

As she went to set up a new round of bottles, V. felt as if she'd stepped into an alternate reality. What she really getting advice on her relationship from Tig? Was he really making sense? As she returned, she saw him smile again. "Besides," he said, squeezing off two more quick rounds. "Jax is a fuckin' pussy."

For the next twenty minutes, Tig shot in silence, V. setting up the bottles each time. She wasn't sure why she was doing it, but the whole thing felt meditative, relaxing, and she didn't want to spoil it by telling him to set up his own goddamn bottles. It seemed almost as if he'd forgotten she was there at all, so when he addressed her again, she was a bit surprised. "OK," he said. "Now you."

She picked up the second pistol again, held it out, her hands steadier now, lined up the shot, pulled the trigger. She heard Tig laughing before she ever let up. "Jesus, you're terrible. How have you been with the Club this long and nobody ever taught you to shoot?"

V. considered the question. She usually carried a gun, and she could shoot well enough to hit a big target close to her, which was all she'd ever needed to do. Learning to shoot any better than that had never occurred to her. "I don't know," she said. "Just hasn't come up."

"Alright," he said, still chuckling as he came in closer behind her. "First, you're fuckin' holding it wrong." V. was surprised when she felt his arms come around her, his hands on hers, moving them slightly on the pistol. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, and though she'd have expected it to make her skin crawl, it didn't. Feeling him coming closer to her, she arched her back slightly on instinct, not even thinking about it, her body knowing the motion without any involvement from her brain.

Tig had been thinking about fucking V. on and off the whole time he'd been shooting. The thoughts were mostly idle, just a product of watching her ass when she bent over to pick up bottles, the bounce of her chest when she jogged back out of the gunfire. They weren't new thoughts—she was one of those women who had that "fuck me" air about her, so you think about it even if you aren't particularly attracted. Plus, Tig hardly knew a woman he hadn't considered fucking. This was different, though. It was the first time he'd been in a position to actually give her a try. And the more he watched her move, the more he thought he might just do it. Probably be a better lay than the one he'd get from a Crow Eater when he got back to the Clubhouse, he thought. And knowing she couldn't stand him? That would make it all the better.

He was still thinking about it when he felt her move against him. The move was slight, subtle, but unmistakable. It had been a long time, actually, since he'd felt a woman move against him like that. Sex these days didn't usually begin with subtle. The novelty of it was arousing. Smiling a knowing little smile, he moved back against her, tilting his hips forward. _I know you can feel that,_ he thought. _And I'm not gonna be playin' for very long. _

Through the first few rounds V. shot, they continued to play the game, moving incrementally closer, until she could feel his hardness against her back_. Christ,_ she thought. _Am I really considering doing this?_ For some reason, though, she couldn't think of a good reason not to. Her body felt full of energy like electricity, begging for a fight or a fuck. _Why not both?_

When he moved his hands from the gun and wrapped one of them in V.,'s hair, Tig's thoughts moved to Aisha. Aisha felt nothing like this—everything about V. was different than her, and it was hard, having been close to her so recently, not think of V. as all wrong. He knew he'd rather it be Aisha he was about to force into the dirt, but it wasn't time for that yet. And there was nothing wrong with keeping himself entertained the meantime.

V. inhaled sharply when she felt the hand in her hair. _You stop this now or it's not gonna stop_, she told herself. And yet she didn't pull away, didn't say anything. Instead she waited. She lowered the gun, then felt him take it out of her hand with his other hand, tossing it aside and then wrapping his fingers tight around her wrist. A moment later, she was on the ground.

As he pushed V. to the ground, Tig pulled the wrist he was holding behind her, twisting her arm behind her back. When she didn't yell, but gasped, he smiled. Pulling her by the twisted arm, he rolled her over so she was lying underneath him. Her face was beginning to flush, her eyes to shine. This could definitely be fun. "I'm not gonna kiss you," he snarled, smiling.

"Good. I don't want to be kissed."

He reached down then, grabbing her belt and pulling it out of the belt loops with one strong tug. She reached for his belt too, feeling frenzied now. He flashed again on Aisha, on how different this scene would be if he were playing it with his little girl. _Think about that shit later. For now, this._ He hissed a little when he felt her hand around his cock. Her motions were smooth, knowing. She wasn't gentle. She tugged hard.

When he had her pants down, he pulled her up and forced her back over and up onto her knees in the dirt. He held her hip with one hand, reaching the other one up her shirt and squeezing her tits hard, first one and then the other. As he thrust into her, he pulled on her nipple ring, first hard, then harder. "Fuck," she hissed. He smiled. It wasn't a scream, but it was a start.

Pulling his hand out of her shirt, he wound it back in her hair and pulled her head back sharply. He liked the way it made her back arch, liked how she was struggling to keep upright on her knees. He laughed a little bit as he moved his hand up from her hips to her back and pushed her down. Only her ass was in the air now, him holding her whole upper body in the dirt, grinding her into it with each thrust.

"You know," she panted between thrusts, "I fucking hate you."

He increased his pace, moving his hand around to her stomach and running it roughly over her scar. "You like this, though," he laughed. When she didn't answer, he tightened the hand in her hair and pulled her head back much harder than before. "Admit you fuckin' like it, or I'll break your goddamn neck."

"I like it!" she gasped, her hips moving faster against his now. He could feel her body tightening. "More," she gasped, closing in. Typically, if a bitch had given him a command like that, he'd have pulled out to make sure she didn't come, then spilled all over her ass. Something about her unbridled enthusiasm struck him, though, and he kept going, pounding in harder, until he felt her start. She did scream then, muffled mostly by her face in the dirt. He smiled, hearing it, and didn't try to stop himself, forcing into her as hard as he could before collapsing on top of her on the ground.


	6. Chapter 6

They'd barely pulled apart when V. began to laugh. At first, she stifled it successfully, but then, rolling over to her back and jerking up her jeans, she saw the same expression in Tig's tight mouth and bright eyes. Once she started, he couldn't contain it either, and for several seconds, the clearing echoed with the sound of their laughter.

When the laughter stopped, V. pushed herself up off the ground to face Tig. "Jax," she began.

"Doesn't need to know," he responded. He'd been thinking about it, maybe even before they'd begun. Much as he would love to rub the little prince's face in something like this, it would do more damage than it was worth to the Club.

V. nodded. "Good." She paused, then, looking worried. "I hope you understand. It's not that I'm trying to make him think I'm not fucking anybody else. It doesn't matter. We're done. It's just…"

He cut her off again. "It would be bad for the Club. And we got enough of that to go around without somethin' stupid like this fuckin' with his head."

Again, V. nodded. "Aisha?" she asked, tentatively.

Tig scowled. "Doesn't matter," he said. "But better probably that we just keep this between you and me."

"Works for me."

He smiled again. "You gonna fall in love with me now?"

She smirked. "Yeah. I'm gonna start polishing your fuckin' boots and bringin' you coffee."

At that, he laughed again. "You know," he said, "you might be a fair lay if you weren't such a mouthy gash." Listening to her laugh, he knew it would only take a day, maybe less, for her to start bugging the shit out of him again. Today, though, she'd been perfect. Just what he'd needed. And looking at her, he'd guess the same thing was true the other way around.

As they were getting back on the bike, V. spoke again. "You know this won't happen again, right?"

"Yep," he said, opening it up and pulling out onto the road. "I know."

It wasn't until they were nearly to Teller-Morrow that V. realized how filthy her clothes were. The knees of Tig's jeans, too, were dirty and grass-stained. All anybody would need to know was look at the two of them, she realized, to know just what they'd been doing in the dirt. _Shit_, she thought. The very last thing in the world she needed was some kind of fucking confrontation. Stopped at a light, she leaned forward so Tig could hear her in his ear. "Run me home instead of back to T-M?"

He turned slightly. "Your car…" He trailed off, noticing now, too, her filthy clothes. "Yeah." Turning the bike towards her apartment, he felt his good mood being replaced by a wave of self-disgust. He'd never been one to put pussy before the club, and this had just been stupid. When she got off the bike in the parking lot of her building and took off her helmet, he could see she was thinking the same thing. "We keep this quiet," he said, quickly. "Like it never happened."

She nodded. She felt oddly conflicted now. The fuck itself had been just what she needed—intense and satisfying and a little bit degrading. But it never should have been Tig. It didn't matter that that she couldn't stand him; it mattered that he was Son. It could and did mean nothing to either of them, but it would certainly mean something to Jax. They didn't even look at each other again, she just turned towards her apartment and he headed back down the street.

-0-

Clay waited for Jax to leave the clubhouse before approaching Tig where he was sitting with Happy at the bar. "Gemma said you took V. somewhere and came back without her." He stared hard, watching Tig's face. "I don't need to tell you now is a shit time for trouble."

Tig sneered. "She was pissed off. Took her to shoot. Blow off some steam."

"And left her there?"

He snorted. "No. Dropped her at home."

"Why? Her car is here."

Tig shook his head in irritation. "How the fuck do I know? She asked me to." Thinking quickly, he changed the subject. Turning to Happy, he asked, "How did she take those Russians out? Bitch can't shoot for shit."

Happy had been intentionally vague when describing the scene with the Russians to his brothers. Though V. hadn't asked it of him, he'd felt at the time, and still felt, as if she'd prefer the colors in which the rest of the Club saw that night remain muted. He remembered in technicolor, though—he could still see her, barely able to walk, her face hard, lining up the disarmed Russians and executing them. "Didn't need to," he said. "Close range." He hoped Tig would leave it there.

Tig shook his head. "Somebody oughta taught her to shoot before now." He twisted his face with disgust. "Pretends to be such a hardass and she can barely use a gun."

Happy didn't answer. He was surprised, actually, to hear that V. didn't shoot well. Clay shook his head. "Just as well she can't," he said. "Probably the only thing that's kept Jax alive this long."

Though he couldn't quite put a finger on it, something about Tig's posture struck Happy as wrong. He just couldn't see Tig spending an afternoon teaching V. to shoot. If he really had done such a good deed, his defensiveness made sense. But if he hadn't…Happy's mind landed quickly on the night V. found out her brother was dead, when she'd nuzzled her face into his cock and he'd already been hard before he'd stopped her. That unrestrained, irresponsible need had been absent from her eyes for the past couple of years. After her kidnapping, then getting back together with Jax, she seemed to consciously put it behind her. Had it been back today? Had Tig been the one on the receiving end this time?

Jealousy wasn't in Happy's nature. Though he'd never tried to deny his desire for V., he'd also never felt envious of the men who had her. The drama that came with that package wasn't something he'd ever willingly get into, no matter how hot she made him. Though he'd been around only occasionally, he'd seen enough of what she'd put Jax and Chibs through, and enough of what she'd laid on Jax since then, to know he wanted no part of it.

Still, staring blankly at his beer bottle, his mind went where it always did when this subject came to mind. He saw her lying in front of him across a line of folding chairs, her scarred belly exposed, the tattoo needle moving slowly across it. He remembered having to concentrate more than usual, keep his eyes on the tattoo he was shading and not on that scar, and noticing the increasing tension in her as the tattooing continued. When he'd looked up and seen in her face the unmistakable bliss, and also the effort she was exerting to keep from losing control, he'd been both amazed and almost uncontrollably aroused. He knew that expression on a woman, knew what he was doing to her. And every time he'd seen or thought of her since then he'd wanted to do it again.

-0-

Toweling her wet hair, V. looked at herself critically in the full-length mirror. She'd become oddly at-ease with her body in recent years. Her arms and legs and face were tanned golden brown from spending so much time on Jax's bike. There were still clear outlines of muscle in her limbs, but there was a layer of soft curve at her hips and breasts that once would have made her uncomfortable. She didn't look starved and scared anymore. She traced the scar on her stomach with her finger, feeling as detached from it and from the trauma it represented as she always did now. That part of her life felt so over, so closed—it wasn't something she ever really thought about.

Noticing the new bruises surfacing at her hips, a product of Tig's pushing her into the ground, V. shook her head. She was irritated that she'd done it, and irritated that she was irritated about it. It had felt good—simple, with no questions and no drama—but it hadn't been very smart. She rolled her eyes. _When did I become someone who thinks sex needs to be smart? _she wondered. She thought then of Jax, not of the Jax at whom she'd been so furious today, but of the one who spent patient hours teasing her into climax after climax. The Jax whose practiced hands and lips infuriated her in their complete knowledge of how to make her body react. _It will be so strange,_ she thought, _never to have that again._ She was sometimes embarrassed by how easily he could do to her the same things he could presumably do to any other woman, any time he wanted. It was a skill she'd not have thought herself likely to let go of easily. But with Jax there were always going to be significant strings attached.

-0-

Jax got up quietly, as not to awaken the woman lying next to him. After peeking into Abel's room, he sat at the kitchen table. He remembered the first night he'd been with V., how he'd awoken to find her sitting here, drunk, worried about whether she was going to be passed around the Club now that she'd slept with him. He smiled in spite of himself. That V. seemed like a whole different woman than the one who had attacked him the parking lot today, furious and ready to defend her own honor to the death if she had to.

He thought, too, of the woman in between, who had been so determined to heal, to return to herself, that she'd still been limping when she'd come back into his bed after her attack. She'd been oddly calm, but insistent, and he'd wanted her too much to turn her away. The nights that followed were some of the best he'd had with her, coaxing her compliant body to bend to him, her allowing gentleness for the first time ever. It was bliss.

The peace of those early nights hadn't reappeared too often over the years that followed. He knew she wasn't faithful, though he'd never asked her. Once, about a year in, he'd returned from a run with his chest and neck covered in hickeys, thinking maybe such obvious infidelity on his part would somehow shake her up. If she'd noticed, she hadn't said a word. When he'd finally asked her about it, she's shrugged, unconcerned. She really didn't care.

They'd fought and fucked and fought and she'd stormed out over and over again. Today felt different, though. It wasn't as if they hadn't argued in public before, but there had been something final about it. He didn't really think much on it, didn't stop to consider it, until he'd gone home. Finding Tara still there, playing with Abel, he'd thought he would have been angry with her for precipitating the blow-up, but he wasn't. Instead, he'd talked to her. They'd laughed. She'd stayed for dinner. And after Abel fell asleep, as if none of the intervening years had happened, he'd led her into his bedroom, where she was still sleeping.


	7. Chapter 7

"You have got to be fuckin' kidding me." Gemma glared at V. across the desk. V. had more or less taken over the business end of Teller-Morrow, leaving Gemma to concentrate on other things, but Gemma was still the boss when she needed to be. And this morning, with V. crawling in clearly on the tail end of a very bad drunk, she needed to be.

V. scowled as she pushed her sunglasses up into her hair. Her eyes were bloodshot, her skin paler than usual. A grisly looking bruise surrounded a deepish gash on one cheek, and her lip was split and swollen. As she tossed her bag onto the chair, Gemma noticed her knuckles were in worse shape than usual—it looked like she'd been boxing pavement.

"You smell like a goddamn beer garden. Where the fuck have you been?" Gemma followed V., firing questions after her, as she walked towards the garage. "Gone three goddamn days and you think you can just waltz back in here all fucked up?" By the last question, Gemma's voice had become a shout, and the mechanics and Sons standing around the garage had all stopped what they were doing to watch the show.

V. put a palm to her forehead in what had to be the universal gesture for "I have a hangover headache," but didn't turn to face Gemma. "Ope," she said, barely looking up, "you got paperwork for me?"

Before Opie could respond, Gemma started again. "You answer me when I'm talkin' to you, you little bitch. You got responsibilities here. You don't just go and come back with your face all fucked up like a man! You have got to learn to act like an Old La-"

Finally, V. spun around, feeling vaguely dizzy when she did. She raised a hand, making a "stop" gesture. "No." Her voice was loud, but calm, cold. "I don't have to act like an Old Lady." The garage was silent, no one even pretending to work. It didn't happen often that someone stood up to Gemma. V. continued. "You're right—I'm your employee and I blew off work. You wanna fire me, go ahead. But the rest?" V. shrugged, the bright garage lights showing her face for the mess it was. "I don't answer to you."

Gemma was uncharacteristically quiet for a moment, staring hard at V. In the silence, the men in the garage looked at her too, taking in her bruised and cut face. They'd all seen V. after a fight before, but she hadn't looked this bad since the Russians had kidnapped her. It was, for a few of them, a little bit disconcerting. "You're not fired," Gemma said. "But you're on my fuckin' list. I had to sit in that office the whole time you were gone."

"I'm sorry about that, Gemma." V. sounded sincere now.

Gemma just shook her head and turned back towards the office. After grabbing the papers Opie was holding out to her, V. followed. As she was leaving the garage, Chibs stopped her briefly, nodding towards her hands. "Anything broken?" It was clear she'd been fighting, and it looked as if she maybe hadn't gotten the best of it.

V. shook her head. "Looks worse than it is," she said.

"Leave any bodies behind?" Tig's voice was low and clear as he approached, looking wary.

V. smiled, shaking her head again. "No. This was nothing serious. Just needed a brawl." She flashed another smile at both men over her shoulder as she headed towards the office.

V. was barely out of earshot when Clay started questioning Jax. "This is how it's gonna be this time? She gets pissed at you, disappears for three days, my Old Lady can't fucking sleep she's so worried about her, and then she shows up lookin' like a goddamn punching bag and says it's all fine?" He shook his head. "This Club has enough shit goin' on without her off her leash again."

Jax shrugged, attempting to look more indifferent than he felt. "She's not my problem anymore," he said. He didn't add that Tara had all but moved in since V. left, had been in his bed every night and made him coffee every morning. There would be time enough to drop that bomb.

"We've heard that before." Clay didn't look sympathetic.

"Different this time, man," Jax responded.

The room was quiet, all of them wondering if Jax knew what he was saying, or had any hope of sticking to it. They'd seen the pull she had with him for years. It would take a lot for him to give up on her. Tig broke the silence. "Don't think it's anything we need to worry about," he said. "If it was more than her blowin' off some steam, she'd tell us." He couldn't help but be a bit jealous, honestly—a three-day bender of booze and fighting sounded pretty good to him right about now, too.

"Who the fuck does that?" Clay growled. "Disappears and drinks and gets in fights to blow off steam?"

Smirking, Tig and Happy exchanged a glance. Chibs, too, was smiling. Eventually, even Clay had to admit the joke. They did. There wasn't a man in the garage who hadn't gone on the occasional long, aimless ride, ending up in a dive bar with a bottle of whiskey and eventually a fight. It was how they cleared their heads. They'd all come back looking just as bad, if not worse, than V. did this morning. Slowly, Clay nodded. "Gotta stop thinkin' she's gonna turn into a girl," he muttered, going back to work.

-0-

It was late afternoon before V. broke free of her pile of paperwork. Wanting to get away from Gemma's glare, she went outside to smoke. She'd just taken her first drag, sitting on a picnic table with her boots on the seat, when Chibs came out of the garage and sat beside her.

"If you're gonna lecture me, skip it."

Chibs smiled. "No lecture from me." He lit his own cigarette. "I know about needin' a brawl."

She nodded shortly, hoping that would be the end of the discussion.

It wasn't. Chibs was quiet only a moment, then reached down to grab V.'s hand. Ignoring the jolt touching her sparked, he examined her battered knuckles. "Looks like more than a brawl though, luv."

When V. didn't answer, he continued. "I've seen you fight. You don't come back lookin' like this unless you got jumped. Or you did it on purpose."

V. shook her head, looking irritated. "Out of practice," she said shortly. "I've gotten soft."

Chibs snorted, amused at the idea of a "soft" V. "Bit off more than you could chew, did ya?"

"Something like that."

Though he knew she'd hate the question, Chibs asked it. "You tryin' to hurt yourself again?"

Had they not both been wearing sunglasses, V. would have seen the concern in his eyes, and he'd have seen the anger in her's. "No. Fuck. I just thought I could handle somebody I couldn't and got my ass beat. It fucking happens. Don't make it a thing."

Chibs nodded and decided to drop the subject. No way to know if she was telling the truth, but he wasn't likely to do anything but piss her off more if he kept pushing. The two sat in silence for a few minutes, smoking. Finally, V. spoke, asking a question Chibs never would have expected of her. "You told me once that you were in love with me," she said. "Do you still believe that?"

Chibs stared at her from behind his shades, trying to read her expression, figure out what she was looking for. Her face gave nothing away. "Can't possibly be a right way for me to answer that," he said.

V. smiled. "It's not a trick question. I just want to know."

Not quite believing he wasn't walking into a trap, but not sure how to get around it, Chibs thought a minute, then responded. "No," he said. "I still want to fuck you. Don't expect that's gonna go away. But I'm not in love with you."

V. smiled again, more widely this time. "Good," she said. "That's smart." Her brow was furrowed, as if she was trying to puzzle something out, or figure out what to say.

"Why the fuck did you ask?"

She shrugged. "Takin' stock of my damages, I guess."

He shook his head. "You didn't damage me, princess." He lit another cigarette off the butt of the first. "You worried about Jackie?"

"Nah. My conscience is clear. He'll be back with his doctor soon enough."

"You think?"

"Yep."

They fell into silence again. Suddenly, V. turned to Chibs and grinned. "Still want to fuck me, huh?"

He laughed. "Expect that's the case with anybody who ever has."

"Why don't you, then?" Her arched eyebrow was barely visible over the top of her sunglasses.

He shook his head and smiled wryly. "We both know no good comes of that."

"Way I remember it, there was definitely some good."

"You're shameless."

"Yeah, but you were thinkin' the same thing."

_That I was,_ he thought. _Been thinkin' it all along. But it's never gonna happen again, princess. And talkin' about it don't change that._

As if she'd read his thoughts, she turned towards him, kissing his cheek lightly as she rose from the table. Standing in front of him, she spoke again, the words tumbling out quickly, as if she was afraid if she didn't hurry, she wouldn't get them out at all. "I wasn't gonna come back," she said. "Got all the way to Oregon."

He nodded, unsurprised. "Why'd you turn around?"

She didn't know, really. She'd thought the whole way up the coast about all the reasons it was past time to leave, to find another place and make another start. She'd put herself in Jax's hands the morning after her kidnapping by the Russians, and she didn't know how she could fit into the Club without him now. She'd known, though, from the minute she saw Tara in Abel's room, that the charade of being his Old Lady had to end. Still, unsure as she was that they were ever going to allow her to be what she really was, she couldn't leave Sam Crow. "Family," she said, finally. "Happy told me when he gave me the Charger that this was my family now. I didn't believe him them, and I still don't, really. But it's the closest thing I'm ever gonna have."


	8. Chapter 8

_The new season has this story slowed down. Watching one episode makes me want to insert V. into the current plotline. So I may try to write some little one-offs in that realm. What do you think?_

_-0-_

"I'm serious. I need some fucking work." V. took a deep breath, careful not to show how proud of herself she was for saying what she'd come to say so clearly and without reservation. She looked around the Chapel. Women didn't usually get to come into this room, and she'd been afraid she'd be denied her request to speak here this afternoon, but Clay's curiosity had been piqued, if nothing else, and he'd let her come in. No matter how comfortable she was with the Sons in any other context, these were intimidating walls.

"You have a job," Clay said slowly. "You run the garage."

V. shook her head. She knew he was misunderstanding her intentionally, testing to see how far she would be willing to push. She'd thought it all out, though, on her drive back from Oregon, and this was the way it was going to have to be if she was going to stay. "I have a job, and I am damn good at it. That won't change. You know that's not what I'm talking about." When there was no response, just continued blank looks, she inhaled again, realizing she was going to need to go where she'd hoped she wouldn't. "Since that…" she paused perceptibly, but swallowed and continued, "that shit with the Russians, I've been on the bench. And I get that. But I don't need to be protected." She looked at Jax. "I'm not somebody's Old Lady. That's not what I want to be to SAMCRO."

"So what the fuck is it that you want?" Clay seemed irritable now, rubbing his temple with a bent hand. "You think we're gonna patch you in or somethin'?"

V. smiled, hoping it would hide the feeling of dread that was coming together in her stomach. "Of course not." She looked around the table again, trying to judge if there were any friendly faces here right now. Mostly, they looked confused, or irritated. Jax looked betrayed. Landing on Happy, she noticed something familiar under his blank expression. It wasn't sympathy, but understanding. He knew what she was asking. V. sighed and rose, knowing her time in the room was up. "I just want you to know that I am still willing to do whatever the club needs—fight, run guns…" she trailed off again, this time intentionally, making her meaning clear. "It's not about the money. I don't give a shit about that." She stepped towards the door. "I just need to do something."

Clicking the door shut softly behind her, V. was surprised to see Gemma waiting in the clubhouse's main room. She sat at the bar, facing the Chapel. "How'd it go?" Her face seemed sympathetic, but that could never really be trusted.

V. shrugged. "Said what I needed to say."

Gemma studied the younger woman. Her face was still beat up, but not being hung over improved her looks. _I wonder,_ Gemma wondered idly, _if she knows she could have been different?_ _Looking like that, she could have just let somebody take care of her._ "They're never gonna look at you and not see a girl," she said.

V. nodded. She had no idea how Gemma knew what she'd been thinking, but it was a talent of the Queen's she'd long since given up on trying to understand.

Gemma continued. "Doesn't matter how bad you dress, or how beat up you get. You're still pussy to them, until you get too old, and then you're nothin'." Seeming satisfied with her pronouncement, she stood up. "Family dinner tonight. For Aisha. You think you don't have to come because you're not Jax's Old Lady anymore, but you do." Turning to go, she added, "Wear something nice."

-0-

"What in the hell was that about?" Bobby's brow was furrowed as he looked around the table.

Clay shook his head in exasperation. "I have no fuckin' idea."

She's tellin' us what we already know," Chibs said, thinking of his conversation with V. the day before. "We're her family. Whether she's anybody's Old Lady or not."

Clay turned to Jax. "That really true this time, then? You done with her?"

Jax nodded.

Looking skeptical, Clay turned to Chibs. "What about you? You still waitin' for leftovers?"

Chibs felt the eyes in the room on him keenly as he shook his head. "Brother, that ship has sailed."

"So what she wants to know," Tig said, "is if we're gonna keep her around if she's not bangin' anybody?"

Bobby snorted. "She don't have to ask that. She's paid her dues to this club." There were several nods of agreement.

Happy didn't speak. None of them, he wasn't particularly surprised to learn, really understood what V. had been saying. She wanted them to know she'd kill for them, go to jail for them, die for them. It wasn't about her being hooked up with any one of them—she was connected to the Club. V. wasn't, would never be, a Son, but she was outlaw. She was done trying to get by on playing house.

"Well, if that's all it is, then we got nothin' to worry about," Clay said, his expression not quite so confident as the words. "Let's got on with the meeting. Gemma'll be pissed if she has to keep dinner."

-0-

Scowling at herself in her rearview mirror, V. spun the Charger into her usual spot in the T-M lot. Figuring it was probably a good time to placate Gemma, she'd dressed carefully in a gauzy red peasant style blouse that looked like something the Queen herself might wear, a short denim skirt, and high heeled boots. She didn't like the way the color and her makeup made her look. Too girly.

She'd realized, heading over to Clay and Gemma's place, that she'd neglected to change the outgoing message on the garage voicemail. It was no big deal, but again, given her walk-about, she felt the need to toe the line, so she'd come back by to change it on her way to dinner._ Looks like most of the boys have already taken off,_ she thought, noticing there was only one bike left in the lot.

-0-

Happy wasn't too sure about this family dinner thing. As a Nomad, he'd never been expected to participate in these types of SAMCRO functions, and that had always been just fine with him. In this case, though, Gemma had asked him specifically to attend. It would, she said, make things easier for Aisha to have him there. She trusted him. So, against his better judgment, he sauntered towards his bike. The sun was just beginning to set, and he stopped for a minute to look at the sky. When he lowered his eyes, he saw V. walking across the lot. She was a hell of a thing to see when she thought nobody was watching her. She was graceful, not in the feline way women usually are, but in a manner far more solid—like the difference between an American bike and the sleek Japanese models. She moved comfortably in her own skin. Even in her heeled boots her stride was long and sure. Her hair bounced like it was alive, her billowy red shirt sliding off one shoulder.

As if she could feel his eyes on her, V. turned around when she reached the Charger. Spotting him, she smiled. "Hey Hap! Shouldn't you be at Clay and Gemma's?"

He strode towards her, covered the width of the lot in a few long strides. "On my way." He rubbed his bald head. "Not sure about this family dinner shit."

V. laughed. "It's not that bad. Gemma's a good cook."

_She's been to a lot of these,_ Happy thought. His mind flashed on the finality in both her face and Jax's when she'd said she was nobody's Old Lady. Honestly, that arrangement had never made that much sense to him. It was like her trying to fit into jeans meant for a much smaller woman. "You headed that way too?"

V. groaned. "Yeah. Not much lookin' forward to it. I know it's gonna be weird."

He nodded. Expected weirdness was one of his reasons for putting off leaving, as well. He'd so far been able to escape rooms with both Tig and Aisha in them, but tonight they'd both be there, and Tig's behavior could only be expected to get worse with an audience. Still, looking at V. with the setting sun behind her, he saw a glimmer of hope for the night. "Ride over there with me," he said. It was a request, but came out sounding more like an order.

If V. was surprised, she didn't show it. She just nodded, opening the door to the Charger to pull out her helmet and jacket, then walked over to his bike and climbed on after him


	9. Chapter 9

This chapter isn't going to make sense without reading the preceding chapter in _Allegiances_, so be sure to go over there first!

-0-

_This place is better than her last place_, Happy thought, looking around the small porch attached to V's little brick house. He felt stupid standing here, leaning up against a post and smoking, waiting for her to get home. Still, he couldn't imagine it would take too much longer after he and Aisha left for Gemma's dinner party from hell to break up.

Hap only waited a few minutes before the Charger's lights turned onto the street. When V got out of the car, he saw her posture stiffen and turn defensive. She could see his shape on her porch and knew someone was there, but couldn't make out his face. He saw her reach into her bag for her gun, and spoke, his voice sounding oddly loud in the quiet night. "Don't fucking shoot me."

V laughed in spite of herself. Happy was the last person she'd expected to see again tonight. She didn't say a word as she strode up to the porch, unlocked the door, and went inside. Though she issued no invitation, he followed her.

When V flipped the light switch, Happy was surprised to see a neat, if bare, living room. There were several boxes with books sticking out of them, an old card table and two chairs, and a small stereo on the floor, surrounded by CDs. He stood in the doorway, still feeling somewhat awkward, as V went through the door into the kitchen, coming back moments later with two beers.

After handing Happy one of the beers, V finally spoke. "Didn't expect to see you again tonight." Though she attempted to keep her face neutral, she could feel herself sneering. "Guess you were on babysitting duty after all."

Happy rolled his eyes. "Turned out that way," he said.

"What'd you do, leave her on the bike?" V looked around the room as if expecting Aisha to appear in some corner.

"No, she's at the clubhouse." One thing Happy had always liked about V was that you never had to guess when she was angry—it was always right out there in the open, usually with screamed curses and broken glass. Why, then, did he sense that kind of subtle, passive aggressive anger he never had time for in chicks from her now? Ignoring it, he went on, "there's some shit I want to talk to you about."

V furrowed her brow. This was not only weird, but infuriating. "You ditch me at Gemma's, then you show up and want to…talk?" she asked. "What the fuck do you want to talk about?"

Happy sighed irritably, realizing that his earlier thought had been right and V was pissed. _Jesus Christ,_ he thought. _Fucking women. _"What the hell are you talking about, ditched you? If you've got a problem, you'd better just come out with it." He was so not in the mood for more of this shit tonight.

It was all V could do not to yell. She felt foolish for making an issue of Happy leaving her at Gemma's. It was clearly not a big thing to him—no intentional disrespect. "You left me sitting at the goddamn table," she said through clenched teeth.

Happy looked puzzled. "So?" he asked. "Plenty of people there to give you a ride back to the Clubhouse."

_Is he intentionally missing the goddamned point?_ V wondered. "You said you weren't there with Aisha," she said, hating herself for how dumb it sounded even as it came out of her mouth.

Finally getting it, Happy smiled. It hadn't even occurred to him that V, of all people, wouldn't see through Aisha's poorly played charade. Normally he had no patience for a woman with jealous hurt feelings, but it was so unlike V he couldn't help but find it kind of cute. "I'm not fucking Aisha," he said. As he spoke, he moved closer to V, his shadow in the dimly lit room reminding her how much bigger than her he really was.

V backed up, her face still pinched. "Why would I care who you're fucking?" she asked

Happy shook his head. This was the part of V he was less a fan of—the combative part that didn't know when to fucking stop. Whatever. He didn't have the patience for it tonight. "Fine, whatever. That's not what I'm here to talk to you about."

V's curiosity won out over her anger and embarrassment. "OK," she said, tilting her head towards the table. "Sit down." She went again to the kitchen, coming back this time with a bottle of whiskey and two small glasses. Sitting down at the table, she poured them each a generous few fingers, then tilted back in her chair and looked at him. "What's up?"

Before he began, Happy studied her for a minute. Her red shirt hung off one shoulder, displaying her bold ink. It made him think, for a moment, about tattooing her at the boxing match, watching her body tense and then relax under his needle. He pulled himself back before getting too far into the memory. Much as fucking her had been on his mind earlier, that wasn't why he was here now. "Why are you staying in Charming?" he asked.

V looked mildly surprised. She hadn't been sure what to expect, but this certainly wasn't it. "What do you mean?"

"You're not Jax's Old Lady anymore. You're not fighting. The job at the shop you could get anywhere. Why stay here?"

"You want me to leave?" She raised her eyebrows.

"No." He smiled, running his tongue over his teeth to catch the last drops of his whiskey. Her eyes never left him as she poured another round. "I'm thinkin' of stayin'."

"You mean patching in SAMCRO?"

"Yeah. Bein' Nomad has worked great, but now, with Mom gone, I gotta get back to a home charter. And Tacoma…ain't home anymore."

"Makes sense. Mother charter and all."

"Yeah," Happy didn't look convinced. "There's so much shit comes along with it, though. The kid and that whole thing. All this family dinner bullshit. And Jax and Clay—how do you see that playin' out?"

V considered the question. It was certainly something she'd thought about—the tension between Jax and Clay had never really gone away after Donna's murder, and Clay had never struck her as someone who was going to let power slip easily away. "I don't know," she said, honestly. "Jax is itchin' to take over." She thought back over long nights when Jax would tell her about his plans for the Club, some of which she thought made sense, others of which left her rolling her eyes at his naivety.

"You were Jax's Old Lady a long time," Happy said, as if reading her mind. "You get any sense of what he plans to do with the Club?"

For a moment, V felt torn, as if she was being asked to betray a confidence. Really, though, the majority of the plans Jax had shared with her weren't any kind of secret. "He wants to stop runnin' guns," she said. "Focus on more legit business." She smiled, her expression much like a mother's when telling her child there is no Santa Claus. "Wants less blood."

Happy nodded. V was only confirming what he already knew about Jax. His leadership would mean a kinder, gentler Sam Crow. Or at least that would be his attempt. He wasn't sure what his place would be in a club like that. "What about the rest of it?" he asked. "How often does this family dinner shit happen?"

V smiled. "It's not usually bad," she said. "Or at least not _that_ bad." She sighed. "I can't imagine this thing with Mr. and Mrs. Tig Trager is going to end happy, though."

Happy picked the bottle up from the middle of the table and refilled both of their glasses again. He didn't want to talk anymore tonight about Tig and Aisha. "What about you?" he asked. "You committed to SAMCRO?"

V nearly laughed. She'd been in Charming for well over two years, and nobody had ever asked her that before. "Yeah," she said. "I know everybody has had questions about my…" she searched for the right word, then gave up with a little laugh, "fidelity. But I'm committed to the club."

"Even if Jax pussifies it?"

Now V did laugh. "Yeah, even if Jax pussifies it." She paused for a minute, thinking about how to explain her commitment. "SAMCRO saved my life. You all did it individually—you were there, you put your asses on the line—but my allegiance isn't to any one of you. It's to the club."

Happy was amazed at how like him V sounded. He'd always tried to abstain from inner-Club conflicts, saying his loyalty was to the Sons of Anarchy. Usually, that was enough. He was afraid, though, that soon it wouldn't be enough for SAMCRO. Lines were going to be drawn.

Feeling the heavy seriousness in the room, V grinned. "Don't go thinking allegiance means doing what I'm told, though. That shit's for the kid."

Happy laughed. The girl was consistent. And hot. She shifted in her chair, moving her hair from one shoulder to the other. Her exposed tattooed shoulder had been taunting him all night. He wanted to see the rest of her ink, to run his fingers and his tongue over it. He'd never given this much thought to a particular woman before he fucked her—never seen it in his mind for not weeks or months, but years, before it happened. And he knew, if he sat here and thought about it much longer, he wasn't going to be able to leave without making it happen.

V was looking at him just as intently. She made no attempt to hide her thoughts, which were running along the same lines as his. The heat from earlier in the evening was even stronger now, and the whiskey had erased any doubts she might have had. She was ready.

Happy rose from the table abruptly, showing none of his usual grace. "I gotta go," he said, his voice gruff.

V felt dismayed shock run through her for the second time that evening. "Why?" she asked, meeting his eyes.

_Because if I don't, I'm going to throw you on that fucking table_, Happy thought. It wouldn't do to say it, though. If there was one thing the evening's events had made clear to him, it was that he didn't need any more entanglements with high drama women. "Told the kid I'd be back," he muttered.

"What, does she need a goddamned bedtime story?" V's temper, kept in check much more this evening than usual, was finally gone. "I thought you said you weren't fucking her."

"I'm not fucking her," Happy replied calmly. "But I am responsible for her. At least right now." Moving towards the door, he grinned. "Thought you said you didn't care?" He was out the door before she could say anything else, but thought he heard the empty whiskey bottle smash against it as he stepped off the porch.


End file.
